Sunday, 29 August 2010

I hope I may be

I hope I may be
a poet. Probably I
am delusional.

Friday, 27 August 2010

Always the same poem

Although from time to time in my life,
I have told people I am a poet,
Whenever I have tried to write,
I only ever came up with One poem.

Its always the same poem,
same wretched poem,
same damned awful boring poem,
won’t leave me alone.

Says I haven’t got it right yet,
Needs another retelling,
Another new translation,
Into a different language.

Why it picked on me, I don’t know.
I hate it; I bare a lasting resentment.
Probably I should get counselling so the two of us can be reconciled.

I have a hunch I looked like an easy target,
When I was young, and all loved up.

It’s a stupid poem about everything, so no good for passing poetry exams:
They (the big they) always want poems about something:
S.T. in particular, S.T. very specific, as specific as possible, if not more so.
If you write about everything,

they never give you any gigs or prizes or slam trophies,
or readings on Radio 4 poetry please with Roger MgCough.
It’s a bit like life;
It starts with a dream, and ends with a choice.

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

Everything is (not) waiting for you

I was going to reproduce a poem by David Whyte and link to his web site, but then I saw on his web site that he would want to charge me $50 for doing so. (A poem or even an excerpt is $50.)

What the great man is! Oh well.

Not content with making thousands from his business lectures and poetry tours, he expects cash for even as much as a paragraph.

So if you want to read the David Whyte poem I was going to post (and it is worth at least $50), I would just go somewhere like here:

Or in the mean time you can enjoy this completely free paragraph instead:

Everything is (not) waiting for you.

The price of our meeting
(not so much as a handshake):

fifty dollars.